


Fragmented Shard

by Lunarium



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bloodplay, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 11:02:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4622904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/pseuds/Lunarium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky had been doing well, uncovering memories of his time with HYDRA and healing from them, when one in particular threatens to shatter him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragmented Shard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jayjaybe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayjaybe/gifts).



Something about the bareness of the white walls, the room too clean with the hint of antiseptics in the air, that first jarred the memory in Bucky’s mind. He had been good with his therapy sessions; with aid from Steve and Sam he learned to uncover and effectively deal with each new distressing memory of his life as the Winter Soldier. It had freed him of the fear which loomed over him ever since he broke through the layers of brainwashing and mind-control HYDRA had inflected on him. 

But as the nurse pulled up his right sleeve, asking him the usual questions as she prepared him for the blood draw, his mind slipped deeper into memory, triggered by the overtly clean sight. The woman’s perfume was soon replaced by the body spray that damn man always had on him, the hand on him far more rough and cruel. 

Tensing, Bucky tried to push the memory back. But as the woman felt for a vein, the image of Rumlow, his face so close to Bucky’s - no, the Winter Soldier’s - became more real and vivid than the nurse and all else around him. 

The pristine white walls were too bright, assaulting his eyes still adjusting to sight after taken out of cryo-sleep. The floor was spotless, the air itself crisp, but the steel tools laid out beside him were stained, old, and overused. He suspected the tools were truly sterilized - HYDRA valued him too much to risk infection - but the tools were purposely made to look as this to send a silent message to him, perhaps a threat or reminder that he was nothing more than a weapon. 

Whatever the reason, it certainly brought a little thrill between his trainer’s legs.

A strong hand squeezing his shoulder roused him from whatever reverie he was in as the strong tall man circled to the front and crouched before him, looking up at him with a lopsided grin

“Hi there, big guy,” Rumlow said in a mocking tone as though they were buddies. “Ready for your training?” 

The Solider instinctually tensed without understanding why, his eyes casting to the ground in seeking to understand. Due to all the times they wiped his memories he could never recall the details of his life previous, but he knew the man and that training with him involved pain, and knew he himself would prefer training out in the field with the guns and knives, not the procedure which took place here. 

“Hey, look at me,” Rumlow said, grabbing his chin and forcing his head up. “You’re not going soft on me today, got it? You’re a fine weapon, and I’m going to make sure you shine like the finest blade by the time we’re done.” 

He picked up the first tool, and the Soldier gripped the armrests, his fists tugging against the binds which secured both arms down, just as the binds that secured his own legs, immobilizing him. The tip of the blade pierced the space between two knuckles and he gasped out in pain, only to earn a sharp slap across his face. 

“You’re not starting off well, soldier,” Rumlow said in a low voice. “Come on, I know you can take this pain. I’ve seen you endure so much, so wonderfully well out there.” He dug deep, but the Solider held back the next gasp of pain, and the next, and the next as his commander and trainer gave similar attention elsewhere on his hand. His legs trembled by the time Rumlow was done, but he remained silent. 

Rumlow grinned approvingly at the Solider. “Perfect. You learn so quick. In no time you will be that brilliant killing machine again, all mighty and there to entertain and amaze me with your guns, eh?” Without warning he dug the blade right into the tip of one finger. The soldier bit back the cry, thrashed, but did not utter a sound. 

“You’re getting there, soldier. Next time, without all the commotion. If this happened while you were out there, you could make enough noise to draw your enemies right to you. Try it again.” It wasn’t long before each of his right fingers were bleeding at the tips, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears as they bore into Rumlow’s, but he neither flinched from any contact nor cried out. He could feel his body’s enhanced healing kicking in, but it did not make the pain any better. 

Rumlow took a step back to study his work, nodding at the first signs of healing, then inched back, picking up another blade. He traced it down the middle of the solider’s face, then around his jaw and down the center of his neck. Eyes flashed dangerously when the tip pressed right against his jugular, his glare on Rumlow lethal. 

“Getting pissed?” Rumlow asked conversationally, smirking. “I like seeing that. Gives me a boner, see.”

Without thinking the solider spat in his face, earning him a round of curses and strikes across his face. A copper taste notified him his lower lip had gushed open, just the same as the cut in his throat as a warmth dribbled down his neck. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Rumlow said, placing a finger against the Solider’s lips. “No reaction to _anything_ I do to you, remember? You will face a lot of pain out on the field. You’re going to be wounded every time. Do you really want to lose yourself like that? One sharp cry, and your hiding place is compromised. One slight against you, and your rage will only expose you to more danger. You want that for yourself, solider? Huh? Do you?” 

As he spoke, he slowly buried the blade into the Soldier’s torso, making sure to twist it at just the right angle, not leaving any serious injury yet setting off an agony that made the Solider nearly kick him roughly across the room, if only he could move his legs. His lower lip quivered, still glaring at Rumlow through eyes full of unshed tears from the pain, the blood dribbling down from his lip and throat. 

“Disobey me again and you know what comes next. I’m sure you can feel my threat right now.” And to illustrate his point, Rumlow ground against the Soldier, who willed himself to not react to the invasion. If he were lucky and obedient and good enough, perhaps he could even avoid another test of endurance, as the other was one Rumlow enjoyed all the more. His jaw ached with the memory of it. 

“Yeah, that’s right. That’s a good boy.” He brushed back the Soldier’s hair. “You don’t want that, do you? Or perhaps…”

The Soldier’s stomach lurched as Rumlow checked the clock. “We have so much time left before we’re needed in the field, and you need a lot more discipline before you are fit.” 

The sound of a belt buckle unfastening met the Soldier’s ears, but he tried not to look.

No, it wasn’t meant to happen _this soon_. 

This, he suddenly remembered, this was always how these sessions always ended. He would rage against the man; once or twice he broke through his bonds and lunged at him, but there were commands and ways to subdue him, and he didn’t know which was worse, but Rumlow stood before him, ready. A hand pulled his head up, strong fingers pressing on his cheeks, forcing his mouth open. 

“Yeah, looks like you need a little bit of discipline,” Rumlow said, his breath hitched with anticipation. The Soldier withdrew deep into himself, stomach twisting with what was to take place, rejecting what he was seeing, hearing, the scents of the antiseptic and the man’s body. 

“Are you okay?” the woman’s voice drew Bucky back to the present, his the memory recoiling like a snake. 

Bucky hadn’t realized how shaken and pale he had become. The memory was so vivid it was as though he was reliving every painful second. When the nurse placed a comforting hand on his arm, it took every ounce of his willpower to not strike her. The bandage over the needlepoint wound seeped with just a tiny dot of blood. 

“I’m all right,” he said hoarsely. 

“You sure? Maybe you just need to rest a little; we _did_ take a large sample of your blood. I can page the doctor to see you right now.” 

“No! No… there is no problem, I am fine,” Bucky assured her with a weak smile and got up. He acted as normal as he could as he gathered his jacket and left, thanking her for her concern. His legs struggled to support his weight from the fragmented shard of memory lodged in his mind. He never had a memory like it; there were shards full of pain, the mind-wipes, but nothing as this. His blood boiled and his stomach lurched at the thought of Rumlow’s hands on him. 

From the corner of his eye he caught another sight of the clean, bare walls and for a brief moment thought he had seen Rumlow smirking at him from behind the woman. One blink later and he was gone. 

“I am fine,” Bucky said. “My friends are waiting for me.” 

He made for the lab’s exit as fast as his legs could go without breaking into a run, a scream, bottled up for so many years, threatening to boil out.


End file.
